Of Roses And Onions
by Kryss LaBryn
Summary: A collection of drabbles from The Shadow Gallery's various challenges. Most are quite short but all are entertaining. A few are quite silly, but all are in character. More will be added as I write them. Enjoy! And please, if you read, leave a review!
1. A Drunken Interlude

**A Drunken Interlude**

By Kryss LaBryn

_A/N: This was written a while ago, but if I recall correctly, it was for a Bad Pun challenge. I know for sure it was a Shadow Gallery challenge response, though. Heh. There'd be a lot fewer of these without their challenges, that's for sure!_

* * *

It was a dirked and stormy knight, when suddenly, the shots ran out.

"Bugger," muttered V, staring blearily into the bottom of his glass.

"This is all your fault, Montego," he added, raising the empty shot glass to an eye and staring at the indignant suit of armour before him.

_It isn't,_ he imagined the suit stiffly replying; _I hardly touched a drop. And what do you think you're doing with that? Do you think it likely to improve your focus?_

"I doubt it," replied V; "But I've heard the world can seem a brighter place when seen through the bottom of a glass." However, the bottle remained empty. He regarded the once-brimming Amaretto bottle one last time before lowering the glass again. It was still void of liqueur. "And it is too your fault. You're the one who egged me on."

_Well, honestly; what else was I to do? Look at me; you and your blessed daggers have ruined my finish. I'm all over holes!_

"'s very fashionable," muttered V; "Very… slash 'n' puff."

The suit snorted. _Slash and puff? I _predate_ such silly fripperies by over a hundred years. Besides, you've only slashed me; there's no 'puff' involved. Really, I look quite as ridiculous now as would, say, a modern man prancing about in breeches and a doublet._

V straightened. "You take that back," he growled. "There's nothing wrong with my doublet."

_S__ays Mister Fashionable. Mister 'I'm So Jolly Clever I'll Wear Clothes Half A Millennium Out Of Date'. Mister 'I'll Just Ponce About London In A Wig; That'll Scare Them!'. Mister 'I'll Just Emulate A Historical Character Whom No One Remembers And Who Failed In His Mission; That'll Set Their Knees a-Trembling!' Mister—_

"Enough!" yelled V, throwing the shot glass at Montego's head. It missed by a good foot, bounced off a nearby tapestry, landed on and rolled off the pouf, and came to rest, intact and dribbley, on the rug. "_Bugger_." On the second try he managed to stagger to his feet, swaying gently a moment before he tottered off to rescue the glass.

_You drunken sot,_ sneered the armour. _Look at you. A fine rescuer of humanity you're turning out to be! At least _I succeeded_ in _my_ mission; you're far too pissed to fling your bloody daggers at me now! At least _I _can rest safe in my bed now. Me, and every last gob-headed Fingerman and Norsefire party member out there. Honestly. Would you treat the Gaugin's like this? I should hope not! Why, anyone else—_

"Sod _off_, Montego!" groused V irritably, and backhanded the helm off the stand. It rolled to a stop under the piano, out of easy reach.

_See? _See? _You wouldn't fling the Van Gough's about like this, would you? Noooo—_The suit's voice was only slightly muffled, and utterly unrepentant. _I'm a historical artefact too, you know! _ _I deserve some respect! _

"_You,_ my friend," V pointed in the helm's general direction, "Are common as muck, possess _no_ artistic merit, and are a fake, to boot. 'Respect'… Pfft!"

_A fake? A _fake_?!? On _what_ do you base such a… a false and.. and _baseless_ accusation? A fake? Me?!_

"You, a fake." V nodded for emphasis, and sank back onto the sofa, Guy's frozen lips stretched in an almost malicious smile at the suit's discomfit. "I've seen your innards, old man; I _know_ they didn't use welders back in the fourteenth century. And besides…" he idly twirled the empty glass in his fingers, "You're taller than _me_. How many knights of old do _you_ know of, who were over five feet tall, hmmm?"

_Bugger._

"Face it, my dear Montego; all you're good for _is_ target practice. You should be grateful that you're here at all, surrounded by _actual_ historical artefacts, and not still cluttering up that dreadful theatre."

V smiled at the silence.

…_You're still out of drink, you bloody great wanker,_ Montego said sulkily.

V looked at the bottle and sighed, with feeling. "_Bugger._"

_The End_


	2. Syringe

_A/N: This was written for The Shadow Gallery's Art Drabble Challenge. The very talented Flo Fett has drawn a lovely image of a man in a doublet who appears to be V, sans gloves and mask, with a little private half-smile. One hand is slightly slipped between the buttons of his doublet. A syringe and bottle lie on the counter before him. Visit my profile for the link._

* * *

V smiled as he filled the syringe and disrobed. "3.4 cc's ought to be just right... Assuming you haven't gained any weight since last time."

Evey giggled from the depths of his bed. "I've been very careful. I'd hate to have you waste any time _calculating_, when we could be putting the time to _such _better use..."

V chuckled himself as he carefully pinched a fold of Evey's skin. "Brace yourself, my love; I've altered the formula a hair." He climbed in next to her, smooth skin against roughened. "I am going to rock your _socks_..!"

Evey giggled again, and sighed, as the tingling warmth of the drug began to spread through her veins. "What did you call this, again?"

"It's a concentrated form of Ecstacy," V smiled, reaching for her. "Enjoy..."


	3. Onion

**Onion**

_by Kryss LaBryn  
A/N: The Shadow Gallery's Word Drabble Challenge. The word I picked was Onion. Which was probably a mistake, seeing as I had just watched Shrek for the umpteenth time... As usual, I own nothing. Surprised?  
_

* * *

"Let me see... How can I explain this, Evey? Hmm. Well, you see, Evey, terrorists have layers." 

"Layers?" queried Evey, puzzled.

"Yes, layers. Like... Like an onion!" V held up the remains of the onion he was chopping for dinner.

"So... Terrorists are like onions? How do you mean? Like, really stinky and they make your breath bad?" She wrinkled her nose. "Is that why you wear the mask all the time?"

"No! Of course not! Onions have layers. _Layers,_ Evey! Terrorists have layers; onions have layers-- Please try to concentrate!"

"You know what else has layers?" Evey asked dreamily. "Parfaits. Parfaits have layers... Terrorists could be like parfaits. _Everybody_ likes parfaits!"

"Terrorists are _not_ like parfaits, Evey! God, woman; why do I even bother..." He chopped the remains of the onion with rather more vigor than necessary.

"Well, really, V; what do you expect? I'm _starving!_ Mmm... Parfaits..." she added, lost once again in layers of cake and whipped cream. Extremely _non_-terroristic whipped cream, V hoped.

He tried to put the image of a parfait made from layers of whipped cream and Vs firmly from his mind as he cooked.

Evey, on the other hand, did not.

_Fin!_


	4. Vorpal

**Vorpal**

_A/N: Written for the Shadow Gallery's Literary Mimic Challenge: White a V piece in the style of another author. The title is probably a dead give-away, but it starts with a V and seems appropriate, and I honestly can't think of anything else. Alternate suggestions welcome!_

* * *

'Twas curfew, and the Fingermen  
Did roam the alleyways at will:  
Cowed were ordinary men,  
By official men who kill. 

"Beware the homosexuals!  
Perverted lust and unclean hands!  
Beware the Muslim man who calls  
His god from foreign lands!"

He took his sharpened knives in hand:  
Long time his vengeance had he sought—  
So at last came he to a dark alley,  
Where a woman vainly fought.

And as she fought in vain, and screamed,  
The maskéd man, with knives of flame,  
Came from nowhere, as it seemed,  
Reciting as he came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through,  
The shining knives went snicker-snack!  
He left them dead, tilted his head,  
And took a different tack.

"And have you gone to see the man?  
You're bleeding V; oh, please don't die!  
I haven't learned all that I can!"  
She whispered with a sigh.

'Twas twilight, and the Fingermen  
Had gone the way of those who kill  
With unctuous law their citizens,  
And Justice drank her fill.

* * *

_A/N: Based, of course, on Lewis Carroll's wonderful poem, The Jabberwocky. Heh... Originally the last line of the fifth stanza (Hmmm... fifth! Appropriate, heh...) was "And took her to his shack" which, although rhythmically sound, doesn't quite seem to fit with the rest of the mood, heh... ;-)_


	5. Roses

**Roses**

_A/N: This was written for the Shadow Gallery's Trashy Romance Challenge: Write a brief scene in the style of a crappy dime-store romance novel. I was chided for my literate offering and made to come up with something truly crappy and stereotypical. Heh. So I did. Join the Shadow Gallery (the link is on my profile page) and have a dig around to see what I came up with._

_I was also requested to make this into something longer. I did try, but I only managed to get them into the bedroom before all inspiration deserted me. Ah, well. Keep your fingers crossed: it may still happen.  
_

* * *

"So, Eve," he purred, his voice, pitched dangerously low, sending fluttering butterflies through the pit of her stomach, the dark eyes of his mask never leaving hers, "You wanted to see my _roses,_ did you?" He prowled a circle around her, the soft wool of his cloak sending shivers down her spine as he passed. Eve swallowed hard, but did not dare turn to follow him. "These are very special roses," he breathed suddenly into the shell of her ear, his breath through the mask tickling her. She could feel the warmth of his body against her back as he leaned close. "Do you know what they're for?"

Eve shook her head, unable to speak. She stole a quick glance at him but the smirk of the mask told her nothing. He stood motionless, waiting. "No," she whispered.

"They are for very _special _people." He resumed his pacing, stopping once more before her. "People I want to pay _particular _attention to." The mask tilted quizzically. "Would _you _like to be one of those people, Eve?"

He was too close. She couldn't read him, his posture, not when he was like this. She couldn't decide if he was threatening or promising…

"I—don't know, V," she choked out. "Please, what--?"

"What are they for, Eve?" he purred, cutting her off. "Would you like to find out?" He stepped aside, revealing the room thick with pale blossoms. The scent of them pressed against her, heavy in the still air. "Pick one, Eve," he urged softly, stepping to her side, one warm hand splayed against the small of her back, urging her forward. "Pick one, and find out…"


	6. More Than Meets The Eye

**More Than Meets The Eye**

By Kryss LaBryn

A/N: OMG! A drabble that isn't challenge-inspired! Is that even legal?!

You have to understand, most of these drabbles have been inspired by various Shadow Gallery (link on my Profile page) challenges. But this one actually was inspired by something _completely different_! I'll share my two sources at the end, for those who are interested.

If you think that I'm claiming to own _anything_, you're sadly mistaken. Sadly.

* * *

Evey frowned slightly as the credits started to roll to the pounding rock soundtrack. "Is there something wrong?" inquired V, reaching for the empty bowl of popcorn as he stood. "You seem puzzled."

"Well, it's just that—I mean—Yeah, I guess I am puzzled, a bit."

"How so?"

"Well, I mean… I can't see why it was banned."

"Who said it was banned?"

"You mean it's not? But, V, everything else here--"

"Ah, but I didn't say it _wasn't_."

Evey grumbled a moment under her breath as V tilted his head, wig swaying gently. _Full teacher mode_, she thought, irritated. She scowled back slightly.

"Evey," V chided gently after a moment, "Frame your thoughts before you ask your question."

When Evey said nothing he continued. "Why would it be banned? Well, let us consider."

"Well," Evey paused, crossed her arms, and mulled a moment. "It's very rah-rah troops, isn't it? That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"It's very rah-rah _American_ troops," V corrected, "And very much points out the leaders' incompetence. Or at least, their closed-mindedness."

"But it's pointing out _American_ leaders' failings, right? Surely that would be encouraged? So it might _not_ be banned."

"But it also is very strongly pro-rights. '_All_ sentient beings deserve freedom.' Correct?"

"Well, yes; I can see where that sort of thing would be discouraged," Evey conceded. "But it's just a mindless popcorn movie, isn't it?"

"On one level, yes." Evey could hear his smile. "But on another level this movie represented the childhood ambitions of a just world to an entire generation. It was in many ways a very dangerous movie, Evey. Even entertainment can be dangerous, in the right time or place. Or the wrong one…"

"Ah. It's all about the layers, is it, then?"

"Very much so."

"So _was_ it banned?"

"Less banned than abandoned. It was, after all, just a popcorn movie, at least to the people in power. And whatever the characters might have meant to the children the cinematic audience once was, it would never be a rallying point for reform." V sounded almost sad about it, Evey thought.

"So, then," she said, after a moment, still slightly puzzled, "If it wasn't banned, then why do you have a copy? It doesn't seem quite your usual fare. Sword-wielding moments or not."

"Ah." V chuckled slightly. "Well, I'm afraid I have to confess, it's mainly for one reason."

"And that is?"

"I find Megatron's voice… _fascinating_."

_Fin!_

* * *

_A/N: Okay, I admit it: I went to see the Transformers movie last week. And it totally rocked! But much to my chagrin, I failed to notice that Hugo was in it until the credits. And even then I had to skip on over to imdb (dot) com to see who he was._

_My only excuse is that they processed his voice a bunch. So anyways, there you go: My two influences. Hugo Weaving voiced Megatron. W00t!_


End file.
